Remember that time I was going to write about a weird little experiment I did on myself with food restriction? As though THAT were the thing that was going to inspire my creative slump?
Sure, it worked in 2017 because, A. that was new, and B. I was writing more, and C. I think I’ve mentioned the painkillers/vomiting and this being a great distraction from both of those things.
Also, the current state of our country has left me feeling…oh, I don’t know…riDIculous for food blogging about the things I am willingly not eating while trying not to consume my lip scrub.
No sugar on the challenge, sure, but IT’S NON GMO VERIFIED SO THAT’S…I MEAN. WHY MAKE IT TASTY IF I CANNOT EAT IT am I yelling? My God, I am so sorry.
However, there are a LOT of food pictures in my phone, and I have decided to do a very brief round up. THEN I am free to go back to not writing about the things that matter and complaining about minutiae * while making fun of myself for doing that. What a load off.
*Did you know I worked with a company where not one but TWO leaders used that word in an email but spelled it “minusha?!” The condescending, red squiggly line underneath that spelling apparently did not deter them, and they sent their company-wide emails with it just like that on more than one occasion. I corrected them because I know how to right click on a word and pretend like I know how to spell things, but the other leader came in declaring he, too, believed it had the first spelling. DO YOU NOT FEEL THE SHAME OF THE RED SQUGGLE AS I DO? What do you do with all that spare time and energy? What is your life?
So. It was a worthwhile challenge, sure. Did I ever get all the way to Alkaline? Am I now a better part of the Matrix that lasts longer? Was it like Nirvana but…with less reflux? I have no idea. I made good food that my body was very happy with, and I missed coffee. But I did enjoy the hell out of some tea. Highlights:
There was that time I made the only failure in the entire challenge, but what an incredible failure it was! A cauliflower “burger” (again, my distrust of food in quotes was not heeded, and I should fucking know better) that was so dry, I had tiny men calling for The Spice as Sandworms made themselves at home on my disappointed tongue. I later found this same recipe on a different blog listed as burger buns, which could have redeemed them if they didn’t have the consistency of kinetic sand and the strength of a soap bubble. If you breathed on them, you had sad piles of cauligravel.
I took them out of the oven and I just knew: these were a goddamned mistake. Oven to table, table to trash.
I put them in so many different things trying to save them, but I could only Weekend At Bernies these things for so long.
There was the time I made a stir fry using the Kylo Ren meme as inspiration in order to fit as many ingredients as possible in a bowl. It worked. Here.
As I carefully balanced baby bok choy on top of piles of sautéed vegetables and tried to see if I could topple the whole thing like Jenga but with kimchi, I pictured this. The entire time. My husband asked me what on earth was funny about stir fry. Nothing. Nothing at all. Can’t you see he’s deadly serious?
Then there was the time we decided to go on vacation to the middle of nowhere to an Airbnb with other families (we were masked the entire time, remained distanced and everyone tested negative. Hooray! Road trips and vacationing in a mask is horrible and fun doesn’t exist anymore!) who were NOT on this plan and we watched them happily consume pizza, donuts, stacks of the fluffiest pancakes on earth, and just…entire loaves of bread. We had ceviche in the car made with tinned cockles in brine, mostly because I can giggle when I say that. Truthfully, I only cried a little while the kids got McDonalds.
Carviche, or, The Taste of My Tears. (It was actually delicious)
You know how the rest of this goes. By the end of the challenge, we were energized and less bloated. We felt FAR less pain in our old people joints and we peed crystal clear spring water. We woke with the sun and greeted it merrily, all while thanking our bodies for working so hard, shimmying into our crop tops - both of us - to start the day.
Then, the second it was over (we ended two days early because it was the last holiday weekend of the summer and I wanted to pretend joy came from fried things), we swam around in coffee and burgers, letting our insides fall out of our butts, wondering why we don’t feel well again. We started poking at our stomachs while ordering takeout, snipping at each other and our child while clinging to the ceiling and making another pot of coffee.
At this point, the novelty of both of those extremes has worn off. I am now more balanced and eat what I want on the weekends while trying to make sure I get mountains of veggies and fewer sugars/simple carbohydrates during the week. I’m trying not to flame out my digestive system and my knees while working out 4-5 days a week. I’m trying not to be angry ALL. THE. TIME. THE COFFEE DOES NOT ALWAYS HELP WITH THAT but fucking hell neither does the news. Or people. Because they’re garbage.
The good news is that challenges like this continually remind me how lucky I am to have a system that can process food and drink. To have a job that allows me to buy those things. A home to store them in. Two loving family members to share it with. Income to give to others who do not have these things. Time to spend cooking, writing letters, and demanding better from our country. I’m lucky on all counts.
Come November, I’m hopeful we will be a step closer to more of us having this good luck (we’re still gonna have to push, because dems are a long way from providing UBI, but a step away from this hellscape). Every day and every fight is, I hope, also a step closer to having the current administration rotting in a cell where they are fed cauliflower “burgers” for eternity.